So Soon John, really, he thought
by Quathy
Summary: Sherlock returns just three months after he faked his death. John is engaged but they easily resume their practice much to Mary Morston's surprise. Mycroft initiates a reintegration campaign to reintroduce Sherlock into England society sparking a whole new media interest in Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. K for now, maybe M later.
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1. Subsequent to the fall:**_** At a social event arranged by Mycroft Holms, Sherlock reveals that he is not dead and the circumstances leading him to his deception. John is engaged to Mary Morston and does not know what to think about his return.**

The deep tones of Frank Sinatra and Mel Torme played quietly as guests mingled. Mycroft Holmes wove his way through the dance floor looking for Sherlock knowing that he was unlikely to find him there at all. Opening the door to his study, he found him standing behind his desk gazing out over the grounds as dusk settled in on the estate. Sherlock was wearing a tuxedo though he had refused to cut his hair for the event as Mycroft had requested. This was in essence a celebration Mycroft had arranged for Sherlock to honor him in his efforts to bring down Moriarty's criminal empire and it's far reaching grasp within the British government.

"Come now, Sherlock, there is no need for this recluse behavior. This event is in your honor and it is important that you recognize the sentiment being expressed by our guests and if you do not accept your place as host, please be present and show some thanks." Sherlock had a dry disinterested look on his face.

"I am not one, nor have I ever been one for honoring anybody much less calling attention to my own activities. The merit of my actions should speak for themselves" he said as he turned to face Mycroft who was now perched on the corner of his own desk.

"Surely, Sherlock you understand that they unfortunately do not stand on their own merit. As brilliant as you may be, the media and now most of England understand you to be a fraud, and I am, we are, with this event, restoring your name, Sherlock! You will accept the efforts of both Mummy and I and also of Sergeant Lestrade... whom, whom I have imposed upon to invite those in any way connected to your past cases and anyone involved in the judicial system you have been a part of. Need I remind you that you will need that system on your side. Faking your own death is not an act to be taken lightly."

Sherlock thought about this for a moment and placing a finger to his chin and a second to his nose, he cocked his head sideways a smirk grading his lips. Yes, he thought, this was indeed a clever arrangement and he need only think for a moment to remember why he had agreed to it in the first place. At that moment, Molly Hooper came to door.

"Sherlock, she said, I just wanted to talk to you for a moment, John will be here soon." In the last month, Sherlock had one at a time, informed his collogues and his brother what had happened, how he had faked his death to prevent them from being killed and had apprehended the remainder of Moriarty's men. Sherlock made for the door of the library but Molly moved to block his path.

"No, I mean I want to talk to you about John, not talk to you to tell you he is coming... I mean I, I know you know he's coming" she stuttered. Mycroft was still perched on his desk.

"Um, about that, I had been meaning to talk to you as well, Sherlock." Mycroft joined in.

"Please, I will stop you there" said Sherlock knowingly in his traditional muted and passive tone. "I know John has recently been engaged to be married but I have no evidence to suggest why you think it important unless you would like to me to discuss my intentions to let his room in the near future. I assume that would _not_ be an appropriate subject upon meeting for the first time since my death." Sherlock inhaled sharply, pulled the lapels of his jacket together and moved past Molly into the corridor.

The finance, I do hope she is appropriate for John he thought with some apprehension. Sherlock had intended to tell everyone that he was alive the moment it was safe for him to do so, but not three months after his death had John become engaged and Sherlock, who did not refrain from speaking his opinions, found himself sadly at a loss of words. The others had known he was a live for over a week and he wondered if John wouldn't be insulted he were the last to know.

Sherlock entered the ball room and took a seat on one of the luxurious decorative sofas he was not allowed to play on as a child and looked up at the skylight. There were stars glittering above him. He crossed his legs and continued to stare.

"Get up and socialize," Mycroft said coming by and kicking his leg out from beneath him. "They must meet you so they will trust you and if these people trust you, so will the nation…and do not forget, that you will be making your speech soon." Not until John's come and I've had a chance to speak with him, he thought. Removing himself from the festivities, once again, he waited in Mycroft's study until Molly came to get him.

"Thank you Molly, for retrieving me" he said knowing that John had arrived. The two of them walked out into the foyer. John was taken aback. Molly was dressed in a red flowing gown with white gloves and at her arm, was Sherlock with a half pensive half disinterested expression on his face.

"Jo..." Sherlock began but John's face was white and he had already started to speak himself.

"You are dead! He said, I saw you die!." John was looking at him with eyes wide and he had strayed away from his guest forgetting that she was attached to his arm. Mary Morston was a petite blond who very much suited John. Her stature did not overwhelm him and she, like john, was very mild mannered. She did not say anything but rather focused on calming John, patting him lightly on the arm as he pulled her across the room closer and closer to Sherlock and Molly. Molly was now standing between the two of them explaining that it was not Sherlock's fault and that he had faked his death to save John's life.

"Why, why Sherlock am I the last to hear any of this. You have been dead for over three months...buried and dead!" What's the concern now, thought Sherlock, John had obviously been occupied with other areas of his life. He should understand why he was not the first person he'd informed.

John had broken away from Mary's arm and was standing in front of him with his hands limply at his sides while Mary stared in wonderment, understanding donning as she concluded that this must be John's friend who had of late passed away.

"Sherlock you git! You prat! There was no need to fake your death, you attention seeking, self interested arse. And why did you do it in front of me, I saw you fall off a building and smash your face into the concrete. The bones in your face were broken and you were cold." John's eyes looked sad.

"Ah, cold, you said it, John that body was cold because it wasn't me. I …" John didn't want to hear how he had eluded him. His eyes wandered in bewilderment and Sherlock stopped realizing now was not the time to reveal what he had done.

"John, I suspected but I was not wholly sure, that Moriarty wanted me to die and I wanted to be the one to pull the trigger... so to speak. I was prepared to jump…if needs be, in order to buy myself time to figure out how to defend myself from Moriarty's ludicrous claims. He had gunmen on you John, and on Mycroft and Lestrade. Initially I thought I could influence Moriarty to call his men off but he shot himself. If I didn't jump…well, you get the picture." John's facial expression changed somewhat, registering both anger and understanding.

"And now the man of the hour!" Said Mycroft. Sherlock could see him through the ball room doors on the stage clapping and urging the dancers on the floor to applaud.

"Go Sherlock" ordered Molly as she shoved him though the doors. Mycroft made a relieved expression as Sherlock entered the room. The crowd parted, he made his way to the stage and took his place next to Mycroft who introduced him once again and applauded his detective genius. Mycroft handed the microphone on to Sherlock to recap what he had explained to John not minutes before, that he had faked his death as a last resort to save the lives of his compatriots and had apprehended the remainder of Moriarty's men. The crowd cheered and Mycroft lead an elderly gentleman up on stage who appeared to be, and John was not initially sure, the mayor of London. Confirmed, the thought, as the man produced a plack upon which a beautiful Victorian key was mounted.

John, overwhelmed by the rapid turn of events and relief that Sherlock no longer believed himself a fraud washed over him with intensity. He had completely forgotten Mary who stood stunned in the corridor as he wandered into the ball room to better hear the mayor. Remembering her, he ran back out into the hall and apologized for his inconsideration.

"I understand" she said sympathetically. Suddenly Mary understood why he refused to talk about Sherlock. Really she knew nothing about the man except that he had been John's flat mate and that he had committed suicide. John had shared nothing about his feelings on the subject. Sherlock had taken his life in front of John she thought and reached out supportively for his hand. This was the first time, in fact, that she had heard his name.

"It's ok Mary" he said acknowledging her sympathy. John moved behind her and rubbed her shoulders affectionately while watching Sherlock on stage accepting the key to the city. He looked less then pleased to be here thought John. Sherlock, he was certain, had no part in arranging this affair. He would rather be thought a fraud than grovel for the acknowledgement of England's well to do. He had faked his death, he thought, and technically that was illegal. Without explanation he faced trial and imprisonment. It was better to just clarify the whole affair now and avoid prosecution and the need to win over the media in the long run. Lifting Mary's overcoat off of the seat beside her, he covered her shoulders again. As he prepared to go, Sherlock, who was making his way back to them, caught his attention.

"So, see you at the flat then?" he asked flatly as John and Mary made for the front entrance.

"Right" said John without question. "When you have finished up here, head home and you'll catch me up on the details. Truthfully this is all a little overwhelming and while I understand that this is a celebration, and truly something to be celebrated," he admitted, "I don't think I am in the mood for dancing anymore."

"Understood" said Sherlock "I have never been one for these sort of affairs and if I weren't obliged to remain, at least until Mycroft is satisfied that I have made a sufficient appearance... I trust you haven't gotten rid of my things just yet." There was both tension and relief hanging in the air.

"No, Sherlock, I haven't gotten to them yet, I really hadn't had the…time to get to them yet." Sherlock was slightly insulted. "I'll see you at home" John said and escorted his date out into the cold evening air.

Please review, I already have a direction this is going but I want to know where you foresee it going, thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

"John, John, are you here?" asked Sherlock pensively as he entered the flat. John was sitting in his chair looking silently at the television which was on but barely audible. Sherlock marched over in front of him standing between him and the television. He wasn't looking at John but inspecting the mantle.

"My scull is not here John, it's no longer here. I thought you said you hadn't removed my belongings from the flat" he looked back over his shoulder at his flat mate who was looking at him with his hands clasped and pointed under his chin.

"It's here…catch" John reached behind the curtain and tossed it over to him.

"What's he doing over there?" said Sherlock in surprise.

"So it's a he, you knew him?" questioned John incredulously. Sherlock put him back on the mantle piece, shifting the trinkets around returning them to their rightful positions.

"John, I have been deleted from this apartment" he said. His violin was no where to be seen, the wallpaper had been mended, the smiley face and bullet holes he had inflicted upon it in his boredom gone, and his experiments removed.

"Well what did you expect Sherlock, you died. Did you want me to come home every day and just look at that thing" he said pointing at the scull. "I didn't like it when you were alive and I don't like it now." Sherlock mused at John's use of the past tense.

"It's not funny Sherlock, this is not simply something you do and then expect forgiveness." Sherlock's chin dipped slightly as he averted John's gaze.

"Shall I pack…" Sherlock picked up the scull and began to retrieve his violin.

"No, Sherlock, you…put your things down. I'm not telling you to take your things and go. This is your apartment, our apartment even and I am not suggesting that you leave. I am just surprised…happy mind you, but surprised and…I had to pack some of your things away…you are free to get them out" he said as he pulled a box out from under Sherlock's desk. "Your ah…some things, I guess I did get rid of….there are no more patches. I threw away your nicotine patches and as I've found your…."

"The drugs John, that's alright …I can't imagine you would have any use for them and it's only to be expected." Sherlock waived his hand dismissing the infraction. He glanced over at his room mate. John lifted the remote and shut the television off. The room all of a sudden was uncomfortably silent. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he clicked it off.

"Important?" asked Sherlock.

"No" he answered. "Not your ah, fiancé?" asked Sherlock.

"No" he answered again.

"John, your lying, do you need to get the phone?" Sherlock looked at him expectantly. "Please feel free." He motioned toward the phone.

"Yes, it's Mary but it's not every day you…come back"

"What is this I hear of Mary. You are engaged?" he stated rhetorically. "There are no women's belongings in the flat so its safe to say she hasn't been living here but there are quite a number of dirty plates here beside your seat in front of the telly," John looked at the pile next to him "you have obviously been receiving the paper on a daily basis" he pointed at the pile on the coffee table and "the recycling bin is full…you really need to empty that" he stated as if he proof of his residence in the apartment somehow negated the existence of Mary in his life.

"Maybe I should get that" John said picking up the phone as it buzzed again. "I guess I should have read the first text" he reported. "She's on her way over" John said as a knock resounded in at the door below.

"Please by all means, she is likely waiting at the door" he said as John was already half way down the stairs. Sherlock wandered through the apartment, pulling his science equipment out of the box on the floor beside the desk. My microscope he thought, in a box, under a desk.

"Sherlock, Mary" said John.

"Yes" he said still looking through the box, seemingly disinterested. Sherlock could not see what John saw in this girl, she was apparently quite ordinary.

"Sherlock" John warned. The man crouched under the desk rose and took her hand. "nurse" he said. "How original, met her at work then John" he stated. "Just come from the hospital have you" he swiped a little bit of glove powder form her wrist.

"Yes she said, I was just called in. I'm glad we were back in town" she answered.

"Surgical nurse" Sherlock stated and glanced at her two tone shoes which dirtiest on the top where they were not protected by her surgical booties.

"You won't be able to wear those into surgery again, must have been in a hurry" he surmised. "I suppose that's on my account" he concluded.

"On John's account she corrected." She could not for the life of her understand why John chose to keep company with this man who appeared to have no sensitivity to the face that John was in shock. Mary looked at him taking in his tailored appearance, his finely ironed dress shirt, delicate hands and smooth skin.

"Well I will leave you to comfort him then" Sherlock gathered his box and took it into the kitchen and began spreading out his implements on the kitchen table. "I suppose all my ingredients have been disposed of" he wondered aloud as he looked though the fridge. Milk and pickles. "Diverse assortment here John" he stated earning himself a glair from Mary. John was sitting on the sofa and Mary walking back and forth in front of him waiting. "Please don't wait around on my account, I can find my way around, thanks."

Mary stormed through the kitchen and down the stairs. John waited a moment before resolving to go after her. As he passed Sherlock, he glared at him though he still had half of his body in the refrigerator. John didn't know why he was hesitant to leave him in the apartment. It was Sherlock's apartment but he had been gone and it was unfortunately as if he had moved out, as if he no longer belonged. He didn't appear as though he particularly needed his company and though he would have preferred to stay and talk he felt it his duty to accompany Mary.

For quite some time they sat silently, not talking in the cab. Mary held his hand waiting for him to open up to her. It was not until they were in her apartment and he was sitting in front of a warm fire drinking a scotch that he released his breath.

"Been holding that in for hours, haven't you" she pried. "You want to talk?" Mary had changed into her nightgown and was sitting in a recliner. "I don't want to push you, I know there is a reason you haven't opened up before this, about how he died, or how it affected you" she pulled the chair closer to him and fiddled with the remote control on the arm rest.

"I think it might be a little late for that now Mary, seeing as he's not even dead" John swallowed the rest of his drink and stared into the fire.

"It's not irrelevant John, just because he isn't actually dead does not mean you are not still grieving." Mary placed her hand on his knee hoping he'd look at her. "Believing you watched someone you cared about die in front of you is real and going home to an empty flat is real, the feelings were real even if the death wasn't. I know it bothered you. There is no one who loses a flat mate that doe not care or have feelings about it, no one who loses a best friend who doesn't wonder if they could have prevented it and no one who watches their best friend die that doesn't dream about it." He was still looking at the fire or through the fire, anywhere but at her. She hoped if she talked long enough he would turn around and talk to her but he didn't open his mouth. He poured another drink and shut his eyes but he didn't even touch it. He just held his own hand in front of him and tilted his head back as he tried to relax the muscles in his neck. Mary sat up with him for a long time before heading in to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Please leave a review. I have an idea of where it's headed but would like to know where you want it tot go. **

**Chapter 3**

Sherlock was hastily dressing when John came home the next morning. When he opened the door Sherlock had his shirt half buttoned and he was pulling on his coat.

"Ah, snowing" he said looking at John who had a fresh dusting on his shoulders and hat. Sherlock looked through the closet and shoved his feet into some boots before heading down the stairs.

"You got the text I assume" he said to John as the other man followed him down the stairs and out onto the street. "Lestrade called us down to the yard." Sherlock rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

John looked at his quizzically apparently not having received the same notification that he had. He hardly had a chance to put his coat back on before Sherlock was in the cab. "Would you slow down Sherlock?" he said clamoring in after him. "I don't think this is a new case, you are only just back now, he likely has to process you back into the system, right now you don't exist. My guess is that you have to have your death record rescinded or something to that extent."

Sherlock looked slightly crestfallen. He'd been so bored all night that when he'd received the text he had just jumped to conclusions but John was indeed correct. When they arrived Sherlock was met by Lestrade holding a stack of papers. Accepting his misfortune Sherlock exited the vehicle.

"Are you coming?" he asked John who remained in the car. He was holding his mobile in his hand looking at the screen. "No, your not" he answered his own question. "Go, tell the miss Morston that we do not need your services this morning but that you can not be at her immediate disposal. We will have to make arrangements John to avoid this in the future."

"Sherlock" john said warningly, "I am going to have to do some balancing here". He was not angry but he let Sherlock know that he had to leave and he would see him at the flat later in the day.

"Ready to come back from the dead Sherlock?" asked Lestrade as he held a pen out to the dictective. Sherlock took the paperwork and followed him into the station. "Its alright Sherlock" he said optimistically "it will take some time to adjust." Lestrade motioned him toward a chair in his office where he proceeded to ill out the papers.

"How you holdin' up then?" he asked kindly. Sherlock, focused on the papers and ignoring a nagging sensation in his chest, peered up to meet his eyes. Taking in Lestrade's concern he narrowed his eyes in disgust.

"Holding up? Do you mean to imply that I am in any way compromised by John's engagement to Ms. Morston. It is all of a sudden painfully clear to me why you retain my services rather then relying on your own deductive abilities. My wellbeing is in no way dependant on John's relationship except perhaps for the fact that I may be in need of a new assistant." Sherlock, once again, suppressed a guttural feeling originating in his abdomen and radiating up into throat.

"Just checking in" Lestrade retorted and slid another stack of papers across his desk, "these too, before you set a foot in one of my crime scenes." The policeman put his feet up on his desk and waited.

"All of them?" Sherlock asked. "There was no way you could have just forwarded these over to the flat?"

"All of them and no, some of these are the kind of papers you need to sign in front of a whiteness, or two really, that's what John was for. Sally get in here, I need a second witness that Sherlock is alive before we put him back into the system"

"Get on with it" Sherlock demanded coaxing them to sign the papers so he could leave. His stomach was tossing about with acid. He exited the building and took a cab as close to Baker Street as it would go. Due to road construction he was forced to cut across the grounds of a near by college as the sky darkened and the snow changed to sleet and hail. Sherlock picked up running the rest of the way and shuttered coldly as he burst into the front hallway.

Upstairs his experiments were still out on the table. He went to the fridge and pulled out a number of ingredients but walked absent mindedly over to the window before sitting down in front of the telly, flicking through a number of stations and then lifting the newspaper. Nothing on television he thought, nothing in the news, no case to amuse him, no company. He looked at his box of nicotine patches and remembered that John had emptied it. Sherlock hopped to his feet, took off his coat and shoes and rummaged through the books in his library hoping that John had not found everything that he'd hidden but surprisingly enough he could find nothing shoved into the book ends, inside his globe or in the cigarette packages. Without a doubt John had found everything that was hidden among his experimental supplies in the refrigerator and here was no sign of anything in his bedroom. Everything appeared to be as Sherlock had left it except that he could no longer find the small bag he kept in an antique Laudanum bottle. Come to think of it, the entire bottle was missing. Sherlock didn't know why he thought the hiding place would fool John, a doctor.

Sherlock found it humorous and ironic that he kept drugs in an old opium bottle. Were his search not growing more frantic by the minute, he would have found it amusing that neither Donovan nor Anderson had, in any of their drug raids, ever touched the antique. Sherlock thundered up the stairs and flung open John's door and much to his surprise he found John lying on his back looking up at the ceiling.

"Sherlock" John gasped, surprised to find his friend bursting into his room especially when he was unaware that John was home. He propped himself up on his elbows as Sherlock stood taken aback in the doorway.

Sherlock opened his mouth to ask if John weren't needed elsewhere but thought better of it at the last minute. "I was looking…" he didn't know what to say. John picked up the Laudanum bottle from his bedside table and shook it. There was no rustling sound. "It's empty" he confirmed. "It is clever Sherlock but, I'm a doctor remember."

"Touché" he said, "but that was not what I was looking for" John looked at him quizzically while Sherlock moved in one long stride across his bedroom and unscrewed an old and tarnished light fixture which to John's knowledge no longer worked. He pulled out a plastic baggie and, knowing that John would not let him use it, tossed it onto the bed.

"John, I can't find… my violin, there is crap on the telly and my mind is destroying itself with boredom." He looked expectantly at John to amuse him. John rustled around for a moment and pulled his violin out from under the bed.

"The box under the desk downstairs was the 'I'm not so sure what to do with this box'. This one, was the, 'there's no way I'm letting this go box'. As I understand from Mycroft, this is some sort of family heirloom but be damned if I was giving it back to him" he said with distain. "As much as I abhor your dear brother at this moment" John said "I also salvaged this" John pulled out a bottle of aged brandy Mycroft had given Sherlock for his twenty first birthday long before he developed any drug habits which prevented him from giving such a gift again.

Sherlock picked up the bottle and cracked the top. "It's as good a time as any" he said motioning toward the stair case so that John would follow him down into the lounge. He plunked down into this seat as John brought some glasses in form the kitchen.

"Drink" he said handing John a glass. It was not like Sherlock to drink, boredom he thought, or lack of viable alternatives he guessed, as he took the glass and took in the aroma. This was a beautiful drink he thought and took a sip. There was no burn.

"Holy fuck, that's vile" said Sherlock. He winced as he took a drink and John let out his breath as a relaxed smile spread across his face.

"So where have you been" he asked his flat mate. He tilted his head toward his friend and put his finger to his lip. "Tell me what you have been doing these months." John put his feet on the ottoman and swirled his glass letting the feelings of reality and relief soak in. Sherlock was busying himself with a bottle of anisette he found in John's liquor cabinet. He mixed the brandy diluting it.

"Now all you need is a cigar" John laughed freely. Sherlock smiled as it became apparent that the tension between them was dissipating.

"The first day, well truthfully I hadn't thought anything entirely through. I mean Molly helped me arrange the fall and found a suitable body but beyond that I hadn't thought. I only learned on the roof that there were gunmen hired to kill you all if I did not die…who, it is important to mention, did not know Moriarty was not dead. I actually slept here." Sherlock averted John's eyes.

"The night you died, you slept here?" John asked unbelievingly, looking momentarily disdainfully at Sherlock for his brazenness. "I thought I heard noises but thought I was just shaken up or used to hearing you here."

"I figured I'd been fairly quiet" Sherlock mused but then continued. "It only took a month to find the first two men but almost two additional months for the last." He didn't want to go into details.

"And where _were_ you all this time?" He could very well have been in the house, John hadn't spent much time there after the fall. John swirled his brandy again finding it a convenient focus point.

"At Mummy's mostly. Was with Molly for a few days but, well I don't think she's used to having roommates" he guessed. John suppressed a laugh, both at his comment about Molly abut also his use of the term Mummy.

"How did that go?" John asked.

"Molly's or Mummy's" Sherlock clarified with a hint of a smile poking through his composed appearance.

"Well either I suppose" John laughed as he poured himself another drink of brandy, this time mixing it with the anisette. "oof, I don't know if I like that he said" swallowing.

"I'm done mine, here just take my glass and I'll drink yours" offered Sherlock kindly and they switched glasses. "And Mary?" inquired Sherlock. John had just taken another large mouthful and he paused a moment to empty his mouth.

"Met her at Bart's as you already know." Really that wasn't true she worked at Bart's but John was hesitant to explain how he'd met her in his therapists waiting room. He hadn't been to a session since he'd moved into Baker Street. Sherlock had a look on his face which suggested he wanted John to keep going. "We ah, are getting married in May. That's um, in five months" he stated. "She's from Hampton, parent's are teachers, she's a nurse, you know that." He filled his glass again and took another drink. "You know, I'm not sure I'm really in a great mood to talk about er, ehm Mary." He took another drink and they sat in silence for a moment. "It will be nice having you around again, I am in need of a case to reactivate my mind, and the blog, well it is in need of an update if any of our readers are still checking it." John took another drink.

That was good thought Sherlock, it seemed that John had every intention of picking up where they had left off. He couldn't imagine solving crimes without him and he couldn't imagine returning to the days when Anderson had filled the role of his assistant. He shuddered. John stood up reaching for a blanket and found that the alcohol pooling in his stomach had all of a sudden hit his bloodstream. Sherlock moved allowing him to lie down on the couch and John was soon drifting. Without much thought, he lifted John's knees and crawled in beneath them pulling the blanket over them both and turned on the television.

"John" Sherlock asked the sleepy fellow, "why do you have my Laudanum bottle next to your bed?" John was nodding.

"Thought maybe" he yawned, "you were on drugs when you, you jumped" he said groggily and then laid his head on the arm rest and drifted off.

Please review, I'd like to know where you want the story to go.


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